“It’s good to be with you,” I say, “without all the blood

Odysseus has to provide for the dead to drink, food

That will restore their humanity enough to speak and hear,

Whereas you decide to make yourself available as now, dear

Daughter, without that messy requirement. Would I know

Even if it was legalised, how to go about sacrificing a cow?”

“Don’t be so sure,” you tell me, “Life here is perfect of course

But perfection excludes the lovely imperfection of horse

And human, which I am forgiven for missing. Through you,

I can enjoy the warmth of the sun on skin, the blessing

Of blue sky and sea, the excitement of waves pressing

Over sand and foot, that makes you say to strangers, What

A day! My recompense for meeting with you is not

Just the pleasure of your conversation, but also your planet;

Thanks for letting me share it.” But I had to answer,

“We’ve come to understand that too much sunshine is as

Bad as too little, the rivers low, the fields and forests parched,

The crops burnt, it’s the catastrophe we’re causing, each

Perfect day is also a killer, the kids playing here on the beach

May not have a future, you must know this.” “The Mother is wise,”

You say. “Death, like blood, is one way in which she can dramatise

The need to understand and change. Always in evolution she

Works with every particle to make the best that there can be,

To give the past a future, the dead a life. What you call history

Is her store of wisdom, always available if you choose to listen.

The sun’s danger is also a beauty you do not want to miss. And remember, if I weren’t dead, we could not meet like this.